


not so typical love song

by jugheadjones



Series: fp or mary comes out on top [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Other, i cant decide if i like this or not, is a good tag, mary and fp friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones
Summary: “FP,” Mary asks, approaching him unhesitatingly, even when he turns his face away and pretends not to see her. “What’s wrong?”FP shoots her with a glare, which Mary has learned to recognize as a classic FP defense mechanism. She watches him kick a stone near his feet, sending it skittering far out into traffic. “Wrong? Why should anything be wrong? Everything’s just fucking peachy.”





	not so typical love song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bewareoftrips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewareoftrips/gifts).



> another plot mercilessly stolen from original archie comics. 
> 
> title from alfie's song by bleachers

Mary Moore is on top of the world. 

As she bikes home from her part-time job on Friday afternoon, her heart feels like it’s floating somewhere in the air above her head. Every breath she takes of the warm summer air tastes heavenly, her fingers gripping the handlebars just a little too tight as her pulse thrums in her veins. The sun is warm on her bare kneecaps, and she finds her mind drifting to the new outfit she had picked out for that night: bell-bottom pants, platform shoes, and a polka-dotted hair ribbon to tie her hair up. 

Mary has a date with Fred Andrews tonight, and not of their typical corner-booth-and-onion-ring variety either. Tickets for the new group in town were hard to come by, but Fred was the lucky winner of last week’s radio contest draw. Mary’s glowing because of all the people in the town he could have chosen as his plus-one, it had been her. There was no way he could have known that she’d been trying and failing to get tickets on her own for months. She’d never mentioned liking the group to him. Fred had simply asked her because he wanted to be with her. 

Bookish, unexciting, occasionally snappy Mary Moore. Not his bandmates, or Sierra, or Hermione. Even though she’d told him the morning of the giveaway that his new haircut looked like a toilet brush. 

It was love.

The best part was that he’d asked her practically right in front of Hermione’s face. She’d heard her best friend tear Fred a new one for it, too, but Fred had stubbornly insisted that Mary liked this music more than Hermione did, and she didn’t deserve to be passed over. Occasionally, Fred could have a bit of a backbone, which made him almost irresistible. Mary smiles to herself as she coasts under some low-hanging trees. She and her platform shoes had a hell of a night planned.

Pedaling home along the route she takes to school, Mary slows down as she reaches the low stone wall that borders Pickens Park. FP Jones, shoulders slumped, hands in pockets, is standing in the middle of the path, kicking rocks into the middle of the road. He’s radiating a nervous, angry energy that pulses out like a forcefield. Mary stops her bike and hops off. 

Her white keds land neatly on the cracked sidewalk, criss-crossed here and there with children’s chalk drawings of hopscotch boards and smiling suns. The look on FP’s face is decidedly dark and unsmiley. He looks like a thundercloud. 

“FP,” Mary asks, approaching him unhesitatingly, even when he turns his face away and pretends not to see her. “What’s wrong?”

FP shoots her with a glare, which Mary has learned to recognize as a classic FP defense mechanism. “Wrong? Why should anything be wrong? Everything’s just fucking  _ peachy _ .” She watches him kick a stone near his feet, sending it skittering far out into traffic. 

Mary weighs her options. She had to be showered and ready in just about an hour, and this was one date she was not going to miss. It could take ages to pry the truth out of FP when he was being difficult, and even then you weren’t guaranteed he’d mellow out. But FP didn’t have anyone else to listen to him. And knowing FP’s family, it could be bad. 

Mary leans her bike against its kickstand and sits down on the stone wall, tucking her skirt into her lap. “I’ve got ten minutes,” she offers. “I’m all ears-” 

“Some great friend I’ve got,” storms FP over her voice, sending a world-cup-winning kick toward an empty coke can. “You know that, Mary? A real terrific pal. A real hotshot of a buddy. One in a million.” 

Mary frowns at the coke can as it bounces away, barely missing the tires of an oncoming sedan. “Are you talking about Fred?”

“Fred.” spits FP. “That’s him. My best fucking buddy.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders in as he faces Mary at last. “I don’t ask much from him. One lousy night out of the year. And this is the thanks I get?” 

Mary pats the stone wall beside her. “You’re not making sense, FP.” 

FP turns away. “Forget it, it’s not important.” 

“I didn’t say that.” Mary pats the wall again. FP ignores her. “Sit down.” 

FP does at last, slumping onto the wall like he’s melting into it. He has his head bowed down like an upset little kid whose ice cream has been dropped. Mary wants to hug him but isn’t sure if he’ll take it. FP gets aggressive when he’s upset. She doesn’t want to make it worse.

“What did he do?” 

FP’s throat bobs as he swallows. His voice is small. “Doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters to me.” 

FP drives his foot back into the stone wall, glaring at the sidewalk like it’s personally responsible for everything wrong in the world. “This is the only day we always go to the sports show in Greendale. It’s only one day. Same day every year. And guess what he’s got instead? 

“What?” asks Mary warily. 

“A date with a girl. And he just can’t break it, he says. He just  _ can’t.  _ I’d like to know who this girl is and why she’s so special. Do you know how often he’ll break a date with someone for Hermione? Like that.” FP snaps his fingers. “But let’s face it, Mary. If you think you play second fiddle for Fred, I’m not even fourth string.” 

FP wipes his hand under his nose harshly, sniffling and turning away from her enough that Mary knows she wasn’t supposed to see. Her stomach knots up. 

“I’m sorry,” Mary offers quietly, feeling awful. 

“It’s not your fault, Mary,” FP replies sullenly. Her heart does an uncomfortable clench. “I’m just never gonna come out on top, that’s all.” 

“That’s not true-” 

“Forget it.” FP gets up off the wall, hands slipping back into his jean pockets. “My old man’ll kick my ass if I’m not home on time,” he adds hesitantly, gesturing to the road. “Thanks for listening, I guess.”  

He gives the rock another hearty kick before he storms off. “This girl better have a grand fucking time,” Mary hears him mutter darkly. “That’s all I can say.” 

* * *

 

A feeling of sick heaviness hangs over Mary’s heart as she pedals home. It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t fair to either of them, was the truth, but FP did get the short end of the stick more often than anyone, and she knew he felt painfully that he and Fred had less than six months left together. FP had already confided in her that he was joining the army when school let out. This last semblance of normality would have meant a lot to him. 

“I’m sorry, FP,” admits Mary under her breath, climbing the stairs to her bedroom and trying to put the look on his unhappy face out of her mind. “But sometimes you have to look out for number one.” 

Wouldn’t FP do the same thing to her in a heartbeat? Wasn’t this really Fred’s fault? Mary peels her socks and shirt off and heads to the bathroom, momentarily spurred on by the sight of her new bell-bottom pants folded neatly on her bed.

“It’s nothing personal,” she says out loud in the shower. “It’s not even a goddamn competition.”

“And if it is,” she decides as she’s blow drying her hair, “it’s both of us against Hermione. This is a win for our side. And it’s not my fault the sports show in Greendale only runs over one day. Who’s dumb idea was that?” 

No, it wasn’t her fault that someone over in Greendale couldn’t organize an event to save their life. She concentrates on her bangs, trying to get them to curl just right. Trying to push away the nagging voice in her brain that was telling her, well, maybe the sports show wasn’t the whole point. 

“You never do anything for yourself,” she argues with her reflection. “And that was your New Year’s resolution. Stop doing things for other people and do things for you. It’s not like we can go to this concert any old time, either.”

“What a crummy friend, though,” she admits to her mother as Mrs. Moore helps her set her curls. “I don’t even want to go out with Fred anymore after he pulled a dick move like that. Would you?” 

She’s still trying to talk herself out of it as she’s dialing Fred’s number. 

“Hey,” Mary says when he picks up. “I hate to do this to you, but I’m really sick. I have to cancel for tonight. I hope you can find something else to do.” 

She gently turns down all his offers to come by with soup. Hangs up at a quarter to seven and settles down to watch cartoons with her two little brothers in their pyjamas. Both of them want to know why she’s dressed so nice.

“None of your business,” Mary says, and dials FP’s number after dinner. 

“Junior?” Forsythe Senior grunts into the phone. “Not here. Went off with Artie Andrews’ kid.”

Mary thanks him and hangs up. Her brother asks why she’s smiling. 

Because, she says. Sometimes even when you lose you win. 

* * *

Fred, dangling his arm out of the rolled-down window of their bus into the evening air, frowning as their VW comes to a stoplight. “Thanks for coming,” he says apologetically, glancing at his best friend as he tugs his ball cap off his head and tosses it behind his seat. “Mary said she was hoping she’d get better by tonight, but it didn’t work out.” 

FP’s head snaps around. “Your date was with Mary?” 

Fred flips the sun visor down to check himself out one last time in the mirror. “Yeah, why?” 

FP sinks down low in his seat, turning his head to the open window. “She’s just a good girl is all,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the long stretch of field. “You should hang onto her.” 


End file.
